


Kiss Cam

by disdainfulAvenger



Series: our lives as a series of tropes [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Kiss Cam AU, Kiss cam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfulAvenger/pseuds/disdainfulAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You going for the Arkers, then?” comes a voice to Clarke’s left. An amused challenge.</p><p>Clarke opens her mouth to reply, glances over, and is lost for words.</p><p>She’s long-limbed and graceful, and she wears a baseball cap backwards over a mane of curls.  Her eyes, which are fixed upon Clarke’s, are a curious blend of green and grey. Wow, Clarke thinks, she’s absurdly good-looking. </p><p>-</p><p>Or, that kiss cam AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Cam

**Author's Note:**

> This stemmed from a headcanon of mine when jigsawed said I really needed to write a fic for this. And then a few more people said I needed to write a fic. So I did. 
> 
> Leave a comment/kudos if you like! <3

.

The date isn’t going well.

His name is Eric. Coming to the game was his idea – and Clarke was more than happy to see the Grounders play against the Arkers, given that the Arkers are her favourite team. Eric, though, has been staring at his phone for most of the time. His conversation with Clarke is stiff, almost forced. Clarke doesn’t think she’ll see him again after this. They had met at one of Bellamy’s parties, and Eric had asked her out on a date. And here she is, on a date with Eric, wishing she was sitting next to someone else.

But there’s a game to be watched.

Only two minutes after the second half begins, the Grounders score again. The Arkers are trailing by two goals, now. She curses them. They _should_ be winning.

They aren’t.

“You going for the Arkers, then?” comes a voice to Clarke’s left. An amused challenge.

Clarke opens her mouth to reply, glances over, and is lost for words.

She’s long-limbed and graceful, and she wears a baseball cap backwards over a mane of curls.  Her eyes, which are fixed upon Clarke’s, are a curious blend of green and grey. _Wow,_ Clarke thinks, _she’s absurdly good-looking._

The artist in Clarke wants to reach for a pencil and sketchpad so she can commit this sight to paper. The artist in Clarke wants to draw those regal cheekbones and those lips, to sketch the intelligent depth in those eyes.

The Arkers fan in Clarke bristles at the challenge and demands a comeback.

“And you’re a Grounders fan,” Clarke says eventually, because the woman _is_ wearing a Grounders jersey – and she looks really good in it, too.

She’s answered with a hint of a smile. “Like I’d go for the Arkers.”

“We beat you at the semi-finals last year,” Clarke points out, managing to regain some of her composure.

“Jus drein jus daun,” answers the woman. _Blood must have blood_. Then she extends a hand. “I’m Lexa.”

“Clarke,” says Clarke, and takes Lexa’s hand.

Lexa’s hand is warm, her grip is firm and gentle. Clarke’s palm and fingers tingle slightly when their hands part. Clarke finds her eyes drawn back to the curve of Lexa’s lips and wonders if they’re as soft as they look. _No_ , she tells herself. _This isn’t the time. I’m on a date_.

“Having fun?” Lexa’s eyes slide over to Eric, who is still glaring at his phone. “Is he with you?”

“Yes,” Clarke tells her, and almost adds _unfortunately_. “Not that we’re dating, though. And you’re here by yourself?”

“My sister was supposed to come, but she had to work.”

“That’s a pity. Is she a Grounders fan too?”

“Of course,” answers Lexa. “Which other team could she _possibly_ support?”

“Oh, ha _ha_. Funny.” Clarke finds herself smiling regardless.

Lexa’s teeth are very white and perfect. “First time I’ve seen you smile tonight,” she tells Clarke.

“So you’ve been watching me, then? For how long?”

“Since I got here,” Lexa tells her. Then Lexa’s eyes return to the field below, and with no small amount of satisfaction she announces, “We’re about to score.”

Clarke groans and below, the Grounders score. “We’re not doing so well,” she informs Eric, who glances up from his phone, looks at the scoreboard, and grunts. Then he returns his attention to whatever it is he’s doing – texting, perhaps.

 _It was worth a try_ , she muses, returning her attention to Lexa. “You don’t have to look so smug,” Clarke points out.

Lexa lounges back in her seat as though it is a throne. “Three nil, Clarke,” she says, and there’s something in the way she says Clarke’s name – the shape of her lips around it – that draws Clarke’s attention. “That’s a good lead.”

“We could recover,” says Clarke, staring at Lexa’s lips yet again.

“ _Could_. You won’t.”

“Please,” Clarke mutters. “Last season, when the Grounders played their second match against the Mountain Men? The Grounders were up by three goals at the start of the second half, and—”

“Kiss cam!” shouts someone sitting behind Clarke. “Hey, look, kiss cam!”

 So Clarke glances up to the screen –

– and there she is. The camera is pointed directly at her. She blinks. On-screen Clarke looks quite confused. Eric’s staring down at his phone and Lexa is looking up, her head tilted slightly, lips beginning to twitch.

 _Oh_ , Clarke thinks, _fantastic._ She clears her throat. “Uh, Eric,” Clarke begins, “we’re kind of—”

“I’m busy here, Clarke,” he snaps, eyes not leaving the screen of his phone. “I told you, I’ve got to email this client.”

 _Actually_ , Clarke says inwardly, _you said no such thing._

So she gives up on Eric, then, and looks to the left.

Lexa is staring back at her, an eyebrow raised, lips curving into a smirk. Lexa, with her long limbs and grey-green eyes, leans a little closer and asks, “Do you want to—?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke breathes, and it’s a little embarrassing how husky her voice is. “I mean, yes. Is it still on us?” She glances up at the screen and sure enough, they’re still on screen.

The camera shifts a little to bring Lexa more into frame on-screen. “Good,” Lexa says quietly, biting her lower lip. Then she leans towards Clarke, who meets her halfway.

They kiss. Lexa’s lips are softer than Clarke thought – how is that even _possible_ , honestly – and Lexa reaches out, cupping Clarke’s jaw with one warm hand. It’s a tentative kiss for a few seconds, and then Lexa’s lips part beneath Clarke’s and all the tentativeness is gone. At the brush of Clarke’s tongue against her lips Lexa makes a pleased sound, a sound that comes from low in her throat, a sound that makes Clarke feel a little dizzy and very breathless.

She’s wearing strawberry lip gloss – the nice kind too – and Clarke can taste it on her lips, on her tongue. Clarke buries one hand in Lexa’s curls and kisses her again. Lexa’s thumb sweeps over the curve of Clarke’s cheekbone and Clarke’s tongue presses against Lexa’s. Lexa makes another sound, a breathless little gasp that has Clarke hungering for more–

–but they aren’t alone, and their kiss is being displayed for the whole stadium to see.

Clarke, somewhat reluctantly, slows a little and kisses Lexa softer. But Lexa presses forwards, grazes her teeth over Clarke’s lower lip before following with her tongue. And then, finally, they draw apart.

Lexa’s lips are parted, her eyes half-lidded and dark. Her hair is messy; her cap is sitting askew. Clarke reaches out and straightens the cap, her fingers lingering against Lexa’s cheek.

“Wow,” Clarke says breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Lexa replies, her voice a little hoarse, “that’s a good word for it.”

Clarke is aware of a few things: she’s aware of the people around them that are clapping and cheering, she’s aware of the taste of strawberry on her lips and tongue, she’s aware of Lexa’s eyes upon her face, she’s aware of Eric getting to his feet.

“I’m leaving,” Eric says to her, his face taut and pale, and so he leaves.

Clarke doesn’t watch him go. She turns back to Lexa, who is pulling her phone out of her bag. Her phone’s ringing. “Clarke,” Lexa says quickly, apologetically, “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

“It’s alright,” Clarke assures.

Lexa gives her a thankful smile before answering her phone. “Anya,” she hisses, “I’m going to _kill_ you.” A slight pause. “What do you mean – what, _now_? This is ridiculous. I don’t care what Indra says, she can see _another_ physio. Anya, come on, _please_ – fine.” She shoves the phone back into her bag and sighs. “Work.” Lexa looks pained. “Well, sort of – one of my friends injured herself playing baseball, so I have to go and check her out.”

“Ah,” Clarke says. “You’re a doctor?”

“Physiotherapist.” Lexa gets to her feet. “I am so, _so_ sorry but look – here’s my business card.” She produces a business card from her pocket and presses it into Clarke’s hand. “Call me?” She smiles hopefully.

“Definitely,” Clarke answers, and licks her lips. “Nice lip gloss, by the way.”

Lexa winks. “Call me,” she repeats, and then she’s gone.

Clarke watches her go.

.

“I,” Clarke begins when she gets finally home, “had the—”

“We know,” Raven interjects, leaning against the kitchen bench with a slice of pizza in hand. “Trust me, we _know_. Eric was a crappy date and you made out with that woman sitting next to you.”

Clarke stares at Raven. “What?” she asks in disbelief, setting her bag and keys down on the bench.

 “She’s hot,” Raven adds, patting Clarke on the back. “Good work. Pizza?”

Clarke blinks. “Uh, sure. How exactly did you know?”

Raven smiles. Before she can answer, Octavia bounces into the kitchen. “You made out with my boss in the middle of a football game,” Octavia crows in delight. “You made out with my boss!”

“Oh my god,” says Clarke in shock. “Your _boss_? Wait, your boss is _that_ Lexa?”

“Yeah!”

“And you just shoved your tongue down her throat,” says Raven, laughing. “Smooth.”

Octavia shoves her phone towards Clarke. “Press play,” she instructs, grinning widely. “Do it.”

So Clarke presses play. The video isn’t great quality, but she can recognise herself – and the words _Kiss Cam_ in the corner of the TV screen. And she can definitely recognise her and Lexa kissing.

 _Oh god_ , she thinks.

“Who recorded this?” Clarke asks when the video is finished. She can still taste the strawberry on her lips. “You?”

“Monty did,” answers Octavia. “He was sitting at home watching the game, and then you popped onto screen.”

“Monty! Did he send you the video?”

“It’s on Facebook and Youtube,” Octavia informs her, and Clarke groans.

“And,” says Raven, her grin widening, “it’s going viral.”

“Oh my god,” Clarke says. “What if my _mum_ sees this? Just – just give me some pizza.”

Octavia glances down at her phone and laughs. “You won’t believe this – Lexa just texted me. Hold on, let me read it. ‘I made out with the most amazing girl just before and apparently it’s on the internet.’ Clarke, she thinks you’re _amazing_.”

“Of course she does,” Raven says, placing a slice of pizza in Clarke’s hand. “You saw their kiss, didn’t you?”

“She gave me her business card,” Clarke tells them, “and said to call her.” She takes a bite of the pizza. “I’m going to. But when? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

Octavia shoves her phone at Clarke again. “ _Look_ ,” she says, and so Clarke looks.

Lexa is ringing Octavia. And Octavia answers the call, bringing the phone to one ear. “Hey, boss,” she says, eyes gleaming.

Raven snorts.

Lexa speaks for a while, then Octavia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Lexa, I _know_ ,” she says. “I live with the girl you kissed.”

A slight pause.

“Yes, the girl you made out with is my Clarke, the artist. I can’t believe this. You totally just made out with my roommate!”

Another pause. Octavia catches Clarke’s gaze and raises an eyebrow. _She wants to talk to you_ , she mouths.

Clarke reaches for the phone a little too quickly. “Wow, Clarke, don’t snatch,” says Raven.

“She’s excited. Leave her alone.”

“I hate you both,” Clarke declares, and retreats to her bedroom for some privacy. She shuts the door and leans against it, clearing her throat. “Lexa, hey.”

“Hi, Clarke,” Lexa greets. “Again, I’m so sorry about leaving so abruptly.”

“It’s fine,” Clarke reassures. “Really, it is. So, you’re Octavia’s boss.”

“And you’re her amazingly talented roommate.”

“We almost know each other,” Clarke laughs.

“We certainly know each other now,” Lexa says, and _that_ makes Clarke flush a little. “Would you have called me?”

“ _Definitely_."

“I’m glad,” says Lexa. “I’d like to meet with you again.”

“Somewhere a little more private?” Clarke teases. “And the feeling is mutual.”

Lexa coughs. Clarke wonders if she is blushing. “That would be preferable,” she admits.

Clarke grins. “When are you free?” she asks.

“All day tomorrow, if that’s not too soon.”

 _Tomorrow_ , Clarke thinks, and her grin widens. “Not at all. How about brunch? I know a great café nearby.”

“That,” says Lexa, “sounds amazing. Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

“I will. Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Lexa promises, and Clarke thinks of the hue of her eyes, of the graceful length of her limbs. “I’ll see you then, Clarke.”


End file.
